


Dabbler

by deadinderry



Category: Metallica
Genre: M/M, just these boys being cute, that's all it is there's nothing of substance here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-24 07:23:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20702135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadinderry/pseuds/deadinderry
Summary: It's late, they're alone, somehow they're on a roof. Shit happens.





	Dabbler

**Author's Note:**

> is this the first time i've written from kirk's pov i think it fucking is oh my god

“Have you ever kissed a guy?”

Kirk glances over at him, a little shocked. Him and Cliff were sitting up on some roof, in some town, post-gig. It’s that time of night where, upon finding that neither of them had found a girl, somehow, they’d ended up together, they’d ended up on a roof, and now they were smoking and talking. They’ve got some booze that they scrounged up from somewhere and Cliff has weed but they’re, well, lucid enough.

“Why?” Kirk asks.

Cliff shrugs. He’s sitting cross-legged like some guru and the wind picks up enough to blow his hair away from his face. “I dunno,” he says. “I just heard you dabbled.”

“Dabbled?”

“You know,” Cliff says. “Dabbled.”

“Where’d you hear that?” Kirk asks. He knows that he’s not particularly masculine and he also knows that he’s not strictly about the ladies, but he’s just wondering who’s spreading rumors. He thought that shit would die with high school.

“Around,” Cliff says, a little vaguely. “I mean, Lars was talking about it a couple days ago. I think he’s gonna try and go for you one of these days, if he gets drunk enough to grow the balls.”

“Great,” Kirk says.

“Have you?” Cliff says. He puts out his cigarette and leans toward him, his eyes boring straight into Kirk’s. “C’mon, motherfucker, have you?”

“I mean,” Kirk says. “Once or twice.”

“See? Dabbler.”

Kirk flips him off and falls back to look at the sky. They’re in a town small enough to see all kinds of stars. It’s kind of cold, too, but it’s pretty out. Cold enough that he wishes he had a better jacket but not so cold that he can see his breath. A couple of minutes later, Cliff is next to him, their shoulders socked comfortable against each other. “Why do you care?” Kirk asks.

“I don’t,” Cliff says, pausing a little. “I mean, I’m not gonna beat you up or anything.”

“Thanks,” Kirk says. “Why’d you ask, then, if you don’t care?”

“I was just curious,” Cliff says.

“Well, have you?”

“Huh?”

“Are you a… _dabbler_?” Kirk says, trying out Cliff’s word. Cliff shoves him, a little, and Kirk grins over at him. “Are you like Lars? You gonna try for it once you get drunk enough to grow the balls, or are you just like, doing reconnaissance for him?”

“I don’t need to be drunk to have the balls to kiss someone,” Cliff says.

“Oh yeah?”

Even though he guesses that the night was heading that way, that doesn’t mean he’s like, one hundred percent expecting it when Cliff moves and kisses him. Cliff is gentle. Cliff cups his cheek and jaw with one hand and pulls him in, and Kirk just lets him. Not that he’d push him away or be mad about this anyway, he’s just so shocked that it’s actually happening that he freezes up and doesn’t do shit.

“See?” Cliff says, once he breaks it. They’re still centimeters apart. “I told you. I don’t need to be drunk.”

“You’re kinda drunk,” Kirk says. He giggles, a little. “I mean—”

“I don’t need to be _shitfaced out of my mind drunk _to kiss someone, how about that,” Cliff says. Kirk shrugs. He doesn’t move away, though, and Cliff doesn’t push him away or move away himself. Doesn’t move his hand either. Cliff smells like cigarettes and weed and beer and generic shampoo. Kirk probably smells somewhere around the same plus leather. “I will tell you, Dave never woulda let me kiss him.”

Kirk snorts, a little. “Christ, Dave would kick your fucking teeth in.”

“Would not be happy about it,” Cliff says. They’re still close and so Kirk bumps his forehead against Cliff’s. Cliff is growing out his bangs. Kirk has no clue who told him to get bangs in the first place, but he’s glad he’s growing them out. Cliff grins at him and Kirk feels _something _bloom in his stomach, and he’s _pretty _sure it’s not just a need to vomit.

Like, seventy-five per cent sure.

Just in case he does puke, though, he rolls away, back onto his back, far enough from Cliff to get some air. “You’re a good kisser,” he says, finally. Cliff bumps elbows with him and he glances over. “Seriously.”

“No shit I’m a good kisser,” Cliff says. He does look pleased with himself. Kirk really hopes that this isn’t one of those things that they just never talk about again. He doesn’t think it will be. He thinks that Cliff’s the kind of guy that won’t just pretend this never happened. He hopes that this can turn into a, we hook up while we’re on tour, thing at the very least. He’s had stuff like that before, and it’s kinda nice. Because then both of you know what the scene is. It’s not like a girlfriend who would get jealous about all of the chicks you run into on the road.

“You wanna find an all night diner, or something?” he asks, finally. “I’m fucking _starved_.”


End file.
